Lost Without You
by Igrayne01
Summary: One-Shot. A not-so-simple lie threatens to tear Sonja Hawke and her apostate lover, Anders, apart.


_Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bioware. I own nothing! I just wrote this bittersweet piece to get out my frustrations about the culmination of the Anders romance and storyline in Dragon Age 2. Enjoy!_

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I can't believe he lied to me. I feel so used._

Angry thoughts fled through her mind like wildfire. Although Sonja Hawke sought to busy herself by straightening her personal effects in the large master bedroom and filling Cheldar's bowl with his favorite meal, she couldn't think of anything but her lover's lie, which was still so fresh in her mind. No matter how much time would pass, she knew she wouldn't be able to find it in herself to forgive him. Of all the things she hated, lying was the worst; it was an unforgivable offense that she could and would not tolerate. Even though Anders had often said it meant the world to him to have had a partner for the last three years, his actions suggested otherwise.

As the champion of Kirkwall, she had gained a reputation as a woman who exhibited calm and restraint in the face of provocation, a woman who preferred to solve issues through peaceful dialogue and engagement. None of that mattered now, though. His actions had wounded her too deeply to be immediately forgotten. She expected the sore spot would never quite heal.

Her tanned hands shuffled papers on the bedside table absentmindedly, without any thought to what they were actually doing. It wasn't until they landed on the gauzy red scarf—the favor she had gifted him not long after spending the night together—that they stopped their fussing. Picking the scarf up to gaze at it closely, she felt a tug at her heart and held it close.

"There it is!" a voice said behind her. "For a moment there, I thought I'd misplaced it."

Anders strode into the room with all the gallantry and charisma of former years, and for a moment she had forgotten why she was angry at him. It all came rushing back to her as soon as their fingers interlaced and he grasped the scarf. Tying it to his arm, he made a quick knot to tighten it and then turned to face her. There was no disguising her horror and disgust. She did not need to look in the mirror to see how worn and drawn her face must have looked.

"Andraste's knicker-weasels! Are you unwell, my love?"

"We need to talk." Sonja glanced sidelong at the door, which stood ajar. "Alone," she added.

"Of course," the apostate said, obediently crossing the length of the room to shut it. With this added modicum of privacy, she now felt safe to speak her mind freely. She knew she could not hold back what she felt inside, no matter how badly she did not want to hurt him.

"What is it?"

"Where do I begin? With the part where you lied to me about Justice or used me to achieve whatever it is you mean to do?"

In an instant his eyes flashed and took on the stern, set look of a man with ambition. Just what that ambition was, she feared to know. Anders had grown so different from the man she had fallen in love with those many years ago, the very same man who had come tentatively to her bedchamber, with hesitating steps, in the hope that they might share themselves with one another. His anxiety had been rewarded with a night of pure bliss, and not long after that she found herself handing him—against her better judgment—a key to the estate's cellars. Another week more and they were cohabiting, a fact her uncle loudly bemoaned whenever she happened to drop in for a visit to his grody Lowtown abode.

"Talk to me, Anders. I'm right here. You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"No, I can't. Not this."

"You've been living in my house, sleeping in my bed, yet I feel as though I barely know you. You're like a complete stranger to me still," Sonja replied, her voice growing hoarse with the effort. "Why are you being so secretive?"

"Would you believe me if I told you it is not about you or me anymore?"

Well, there went any thoughts that he was doing this to protect her, shield her from the consequences of his actions. Her blue eyes welled with tears, and she said simply, "That's all it was ever about. Love is the most important thing there is. Without it, we are nothing."

It seemed laughable that she, the mighty champion of Kirkwall, was standing here crying in front of an apostate mage, reduced to tears by what now seemed like a simple lie. It had taken far greater things to make her cry in the past. How could she stand here and call herself a champion at this moment?

"I can't expect you to understand right now," he said somewhat sadly, keeping his anger in check. His deep blue eyes gazed at her with a fierce intensity, and for a moment she thought she saw the flicker of Justice behind them. She had grown used to his frequent battles with the now malevolent spirit—and to all the accompanying warning signs. It had taken over so much of his personality of late.

There were times she would catch him slipping out of bed to pen segments of his manifesto by candlelight when he thought she was still asleep. She often got the feeling his writings were more the rambling, radical scribbles of a man slowly losing his mind to a Fade spirit than any kind of well-organized argument, but she never dared confirm her fears by stealing a glance at them. Just _what_ was he up to?

"One day you will, though. I promise you that," he said, cupping her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze against her will, which she soon realized was painted with pain. What she wouldn't have given at that moment to reach forward and kiss away all his worries and troubles. Would that it were so simple.

Before his parched lips could collide with hers, she drew sharply away, her black waves sweeping her flawless face. She wetted her full, pink lips with a quick flick of the tongue, an action he took to be in anticipation of his kiss. The slight narrowing of her steely gray eyes indicated otherwise, however.

"I want you out of here. Take your things and go."

"You can't be serious!" he said with a disbelieving laugh.

"I am serious. If you can't give me the respect and trust I deserve, then I don't see the point of you living here and sharing my bed anymore."

For the first time in what seemed like forever, Anders was rendered speechless. He stared at her, slack-jawed, eyes wide, as if waiting for the rest of it, something to explain the inexplicable. She indulged him just this once.

"You lied to me, wounded me, and betrayed me. Give me one good reason not to send you back to the clinic."

As expected, he could provide none. He simply stared mutely at her, his eyes betraying his longing for her despite their current troubles. The fire from the hearth danced off his face, showing his scars and pain. His golden hair glittered in the light, illuminating his entire face.

"Now please go before I'm forced to drag Guard Captain Vallen into our private domestic matters. I don't want to ever see you here again."

"Just give me a moment to collect my things and then I shall be out of your life forever," he intoned coldly, moving toward the wardrobe with a purposeful stride. He delved through the clothing, collecting a few pieces he had brought with him to the estate years ago. Although he did not require much in the way of personal items, he had made himself quite at home here. The uncomfortable awkward silence while he went about packing was damn near unbearable for Sonja. She just pretended not to be bothered by it, fixing her eyes upon his every move to be sure there was nothing he had forgotten, directing him around the room to speed his departure. She didn't want to give him another excuse to visit her again, after all—to return for some long-forgotten article of clothing he had purposely left behind in a bid to mend their rift.

Minutes passed. Anders had almost finished packing. He hunched over the bed, arranging his clothing with a rather annoyed look on his face. As he turned to face her, she stopped him before he could even speak by holding up a hand.

"Don't. Just leave. Quietly, if you will."

"It is as you wish," he said with a curt bow that was more mocking than respectful. He stormed out of the room without saying anything, and though she tried to keep herself from running after him, she wandered to the majestic balcony to watch him go. The door slammed shut and she was met with several incredulous stares—from Bodahn Feddic and his son Sandal, and from her dog, Cheldar, who up until now had been resting peacefully by the fire.

"Everything all right, Messere Hawke?" the old dwarf said with a note of kindness in his voice.

"Everything's fine. As you were," she said, trying to sound imperious yet failing miserably. She strode back into her room and buried herself, face first, in the embroidered sheets of her bed. It was the same bed in which they had found themselves tangled many a night about each other. Against her wishes, she recalled the pleasurable nights they had spent in each other's company, the thrill of discovering love for the first time together. It was all gone now, and due in no small part to Anders' hotheadedness.

She must have fallen asleep ensconced in her many memories, for her next recollection was of waking to the sound of a sharp rapping on her open door. She pushed herself to her elbows, her vision slowly coming into focus as she saw a wide-eyed face with bright green eyes staring down at her. Merrill looked concerned for her well-being.

"Oh, by the Creators! I thought you'd died or something. You looked so peaceful, like you were asleep, but then you weren't breathing, and…"

"Merrill, slow down," Sonja said, pinching the skin at the bridge of her nose as a headache began to swell between her ears. "You're talking a mile a minute. It's much too fast for me to comprehend."

"I'm sorry, I'll just… be quiet now."

The petite elf helped her to a sitting position and knelt beside her at the foot of the bed. Sonja couldn't help but smile at her ever-present willingness to please her friend. If anyone were to sympathize with her current troubles, it would be her.

"Is there anything I can get you?" The elf quickly chastised herself in an undertone. "There I go again, talking when I just vowed to be silent. I promise I'll try harder next time."

"A drink would be nice," Sonja said with a grin. "We could go to _The Hanged Man_."

"_The Hanged Man_ it is then."

The short walk to the tavern was uneventful, and when they arrived, they were greeted with enthusiasm by the patrons and revelers. The common room was filled with citizens of Lowtown as well as a motley assortment of travelers drinking themselves into oblivion before the day's activities. It appeared as though the barkeep was harried by a barrage of orders, so Sonja and Merrill slipped into a nearby table to await their turn. Several roguish sorts were giving the man an exceptional amount of trouble, yet Sonja paid no heed to it. She was not in a very "champion" state of mind this evening. She would have liked nothing more than to drown her sorrows away in a pint of the establishment's finest brew, yet the possibility of this happening seemed to be growing slimmer with the amount of patrons lining up to put in drink orders.

"Now here's an interesting sight… Hawke sitting all by her lonesome without a certain apostate mage to comfort her," a familiar feminine voice drawled behind her. Sonja didn't have to lift her head to know to whom it belonged.

"Care to join us, Isabela?"

"Depends. What are we celebrating?" The lusty pirate wench planted both hands firmly on her supple, round hips.

"She makes a good point. What _are_ we celebrating?" Merrill echoed.

Sonja signaled for a drink and, to her surprise, the barkeep hastened to fulfill her order, noticing for the first time that the champion of Kirkwall had fluttered into his tavern. A mug of ale flew down the length of the table and landed in her hand. She threw her head back and downed the contents in one gulp, shaking her head as the strength of the spirit hit her full force.

"A new beginning, of sorts."

"Careful, Hawke," Isabela said with a mischievous glint in her eye. "At the rate you're going, you'll end up in bed with your legs wrapped around the neck of a cabin boy whose name you hardly know. _What_ will Anders say then?"

"I suppose I'll never know." She paused and let the cacophony of noise punctuate the otherwise uncomfortable moment. "He left today."

"Oh…"

Isabela's demeanor changed entirely and she looked slightly embarrassed for having not known this juicy tidbit of information.

"For what it's worth, Hawke… I'm sorry."

"I'm not. I'm the one who made him leave."

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm just glad you finally worked up the nerve to do it. We were all beginning to notice the changes in him. His obsession with freeing the mages was beginning to overtake reason. And he wasn't as… _sporting_ as he used to be."

Hawke's finger traced the edge of her mug as Isabela continued to speak.

"You deserve better. Now come. Let's find you a nice, pretty young man to replace him. There's many to be had here."

"Thanks, but I'd rather not," Sonja interrupted quickly. "It's all a little too soon for me."

"Well, you're no fun," Isabela complained. "I suppose all it means is more for me, then."

"I didn't think Kirkwall had any more for you," Merrill teased.

"You certainly are developing a sense of humor, aren't you, kitten? I suppose city life agrees with you much more than that cloistered aravel ever did."

"I like it well enough here. I've met some very… _interesting_ characters."

Sonja ignored their discussion. Her thoughts were focused on Anders and the look of complete and utter anger he had worn on his visage as he stormed from her home, outcast and unwanted. His name had almost been on her lips even as the door slammed tightly shut, but it had taken a great amount of resolve not to betray her true feelings to him.

What she wouldn't give to return to the way things had been three years ago.

"Are you even listening to what we're saying, Hawke? _Hawke?_" Isabela was asking. Sonja slipped out of her reverie and tried her best to recall what they had been discussing, to no avail.

"I'm sorry, would you two excuse me? It's late and I should really be getting home now."

"Spoilsport," Isabela replied. "Fine, have it your way."

"Take care," Merrill said with a note of concern in her voice, tugging at Sonja's sleeve. "And know that I'm always here for you if you want to talk."

"Such a precious thing you are, kitten."

Sonja paid her tab and then left, following the winding roads all the way back to Hightown, where her palatial estate was. The templars at the front of the city saluted her when she walked by, and she returned the gesture with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, which wasn't much. As she entered her house, the feeling of loneliness that had pervaded her thoughts while at the tavern returned once again. She ignored the greetings heaped upon her by the merchant and silently found her way up to her empty bedroom. Once inside, she shut the door and flung herself on the bed, tears shaking themselves loose of her lashes, rolling down her cheeks and onto the coverlet. Her whole body shook with sobs as the tears spilled down her face, red with emotion and grief.

Without warning, a warm hand was placed on her shoulder. Gasping, she spun about to see the familiar blue eyes that had haunted her thoughts over the past hour. He stared deep into her eyes, one authoritative hand firmly grasping her neck from behind. When he had that look in his eyes, there was no escaping him or what he wanted from her. It was as though he had woven a spell that had rendered her powerless to his touch. She succumbed, feeling her not-so-iron resolve weaken and cave.

"I was terrified you had left for good," she said, much to her chagrin. "That I would never see you again…"

"You know I could never do that. I could never leave you."

"For both our sakes, I am glad you didn't."

In seconds, his lips were upon hers, and they were crushed so tightly together that they could not discern where his mouth began and hers ended. Raw emotion overtook all reason, and she gave herself over to the feeling, knowing in her hearts of hearts that this was all wrong. At that moment, she didn't care. All she wanted was for him to join her in release. She ached for the weight of his body against hers, the press of his lips on her throat, venturing downward as they grew bolder and less patient.

Anders seemed to sense her own growing impatience and obliged her by slipping easily out of his robes and helping her to shed her remaining layers of clothes. Within moments, they lay discarded on the ground by the fire, and she was drinking in his broad, masculine form with its covering of handsome muscle and smooth skin. Her throat felt dry as she stared at him for what seemed like ages, taking in every contour of his body as inwardly she ached for him. He stood silently, drinking in the ample glories of her body—the hollow of her throat, the round ripe breasts with their pert nipples, the lush curves at waist and hip. And then somehow he was holding her and she was pressing him onto the bed, determined to see her lust slaked.

Her skin was smooth in his fingers, her body warm against him. Her hands guided him inside of her and then slipped around his back to pull him closer. It felt so good to be this close. Her nails raked his back as he drove into her again and again until she screamed and arched her back beneath him. Climax came swiftly, neither one of them wanting to prolong what they both had needed and had waited so long to have.

As they lay panting, wrapped in each other's arms, Sonja felt happy and loved for what seemed like the first time in a long time.

"Promise you'll never leave me," she said.

"I will _never_ leave you," he replied with absolute conviction. "You saw how I could not bring myself to do it."

"Don't ever lie to me again."

"I won't. I promise."

Those were exactly the words she needed to hear in order to lull her to sleep. As she lay there, dozing in his strong arms, she felt as though she could die happy now. He had promised to stand by her no matter what would come, and there was no possibility of a betrayal ever again.

She smiled and settled into his arms.

_Thank the Maker he came back for me. Somehow, I knew he would._


End file.
